Already Over
by The First Architect
Summary: It wasn't supposed to end like this. We were supposed to win.
1. The Tributes of District Two

**A/N:** So this is my first attempt at writing a _Hunger Games_ story because I'll be honest with you guys, tackling anything that Suzanne Collins has written is like make a movie with the same material (March 23rd! Ahhhhhhh!). There's such a large fan base that it's intimidating as hell to write for you guys. But it's awesome pressure and this story will probably take me a long time because I want it to be one of my best, so you're gonna have to stay with me for a while. Anyways, I love love love Katniss and Peeta (foreva!), but I am somewhat obsessed with the dark side via Cato and Clove. So that's how this story emerged. It's from Cato's POV, and kind of reflects how easily he and Clove could have ended up as the winners if fate and destiny had not intervened. That being said, this follows the plot of the _Hunger Games_ closely and is more of an introspection of Cato's emotions, feelings and thoughts about his situation and Clove, in particular. I honestly believe Cato and Clove were who Collins wrote them to be because of where they grew up and the pressures of District Two. After all, in the end, the tributes are still just kids. And even if you've been raised to fight and be cocky and to just survive by any means necessary, there's still a little bit of humanity inside of you. But if I do get a little out of character, I apologize. There's not a ton of info on these two character wise. just a lot of glares and snarky comments. At least that's what I believe. Anyways, that's enough from me and this novel before a novel. On the the story! Drop a review if you like it, but don't feel obligated :)

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><p>Already Over<p>

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><p><strong>Chapter One:<strong>

_The Tributes of District Two_

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><p>"<em>One thousand miles away, there's nothing left to say, but so much left that I don't know. We never had a choice; this world makes too much noise. It takes me under; it takes me under once again."<em>

_Survive – __**Rise Against**_

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><p>I can see The Nut as I crest the hill, arms and legs pumping, face dripping sweat. As usual, when I'd left this morning I'd beaten the sun. Now, the glowing orb hangs overhead, radiating heat. Slowing to a stop next to a huge pine tree, I rest my palm against the rough bark and wait for my companion. It won't take him long to catch up. He'd peeled off two miles back, and I can only guess that he'd caught the scent of a deer and decided he was hungry.<p>

Just as I turn, the soft thump of paws greets my ears and then he's sprinting towards me, tongue flopping in the wind. His muzzle is red with blood from his fresh kill, blue eyes alight with energy.

I smile faintly and bend down. The large wolf slides to a stop in front of me. I offer him my hand and his ears flatten against his head as he inches closer to me, nose sniffing and taking in my scent. Seconds later he licks my palm and presses his nose into my hand. When he was little he must have had the world's white's coat, but now, from years of running through the wild, it is streaked with mud and dirt. His eyes, a sky blue color, always hold childish vigor. I named him Boaz, meaning swiftness, because he's all but a blur through the thick foliage of the forest.

I found him five years back, whining and stuck in a hunters bear trap. Normally I'd let nature take its course, but it seemed unfair that such a powerful creature had to die by an unnatural means, so I freed him. Maybe he reminded me a little bit of myself, because that's what I am. Caught in the Capitols control. Except the difference is no one is going to help me get free.

He'd scampered off into the woods without so much as a thank you. I thought I'd seen the last of him, but apparently I'd made somewhat of an imprint on the young wolf. Later that same day I was outside eating and wouldn't you know it, Boaz came sneaking out of the woods, eyeing the chicken leg in my hand.

And if there is one thing you need to know about me, it's that I do not get to have attachments. I do not get to have relationships. I do not get to love. I do not get trivial _things_. Being a citizen of Panem and growing up in District Two guarantees me either a life in the Games or a life as a Peacekeeper. Neither option offers long, healthy years. So I've done my best to distance myself from things that might make me weak. Might make me care.

But no one, no matter how strong, can live life alone. And that's something Boaz has taught me. Ever since I fed him that chicken leg and he licked my fingers, we've established a mutual companionship. I feed him occasionally and he keeps me company. It's as simple as that. I might not show up for a week because of training, or he might be off hunting something for a few days, but we eventually reunite and everything goes back to normal. We aren't dependent on one another, nor are either of us needy. We're both self-sufficient.

I scratch him behind the ears and the smile grows on my face. I can allow myself this one vice for today. Because this is the day of the reaping. And that is the only thing in life that can shake me. Not being in control of my own future is infuriating, but it's something I've learned to deal with. Being born in the districts forces you to deal with it. And while District Two is considered in high favor with the Capitol, most of the families here still starve, and in the end we still have to participate in the Games. So I ask you, what person would send their best friend to war and not participate in it themselves? And really, districts might be favored by the Capitol, but none are considered its equal. I tell you District Two is wealthy, but we are not guaranteed a win. We, for some earthly reason, still have to prove ourselves to the capitol every year just like the rest of them.

"Cute pet."

My head whips sideways and Boaz is up and growling.

A girl steps out from behind a tree and saunters forward, unafraid of the snarling wolf at my heels.

There is a moment when my heart jumps to my throat, not out of fear but pure human instinct. Once I realize who the new figure is, however, I relax. I should have known she'd do something like this.

"Clove," I nod once to her. "Shouldn't you be at home getting ready?"

Clove gives a shrug and walks forward, running her hands along the rough bark of a tree. "I could say the same thing about you."

Boaz has continued to watch her, eyes sharp and narrow. I'd tell him to calm down if I thought he'd listen to me, but he's a wolf. When Clove is but two steps from us, he nips at her, showing his fangs.

"Would you _quit it?_" Clove snaps, voice firm and hard and _intimidating _as hell. And there's something in it that shifts Boaz. He shuts his mouth instantly and tilts his head at her with curious clear blue eyes. She takes another step forward and he's suddenly on the forest floor, rolling over and showing her his throat. A submission, I realize in shock.

Clove grins, kneeling and offering her hand. Boaz shoots to his feet and is in front of her in seconds, pressing his nose into her palm.

"Like I said," she flicks her eyes towards me, "Cute pet."

Her brunette hair is pulled back in a side braid and her green eyes seem to be laughing at me. It's then that I notice her sweat drenched face and soaked clothes. "Did you run all the way up here?" I ask, slightly unnerved that I never heard her.

She gets to her feet and brushes off her hands. "I followed you." She says, glancing around the small clearing we're in. "Figured I should stick close to the one person I know before everything changes."

I frown at her. "Why do you say that?"

We'd talked about the games during our daily training sessions. Clove had been around ever since I could remember, and, well, she's kind of like gravity to me. I got pulled into her. Now don't tell me _why_ I was drawn to her, she's about as charismatic as a feral dog and has the dangerous attitude to go along with it. But she's strong. Determined. Powerful. Clever. She doesn't take peoples shit. And that's something I admire. She takes control of the things that she can control, but also readies herself for the things that she can't. Like the Games. She's trained hard her entire life. If she were to get picked, she'd be hell for the other tributes. And I wouldn't mind causing a little trouble with her. I'd prefer it, actually.

It is considered an honor to participate in the Games. Kids fight for the two coveted positions every year. There are no written rules about who volunteers and who doesn't, but as a collective district, we've decided to send tributes that are sixteen and over. The older you are, the more experience you have. The more likely you are to win. At sixteen years of age, my name has been throw around the district for as long as I have been training. I had been a natural with any kind of weapon since the age of twelve, and it was decided early on that I would only volunteer if I was not picked at eighteen. They were saving me for a time when I would practically be the winner once they pulled my name at the reaping. So really, I have nothing to worry about. I won't be picked because it was decided that I'd be sent to my death by eighteen.

Clove, on the other hand, wasn't as lucky. She is a force to be reckoned with, no one argues there—Actually, one boy did, but he can't talk anymore. She'd cut out his tongue the moment the word "small" left his lips. Regardless of how vicious her temper is, or the fact that she can hit pretty much anything with a knife, there are just girls who are physically bigger and stronger. And I think that gets to her. It must be frustrating to have all this talent and not be recognized for it. Still, her name had been put on the "let-them-go-if-they-get-reaped" list since she turned sixteen three months ago.

Clove lets out an emotionless laugh that makes me frown. "What I mean is, Cato, my names in there seventeen times because of the tesserae I've pulled and besides, my mother told me if I wasn't reaped then there was no point in coming home after." She glances to me and for a second—a split second—blue locks with green—and then she's looking down to Boaz who's started to lick the hand that's dangling at her side. "I'll volunteer if I don't get picked."

I get over the fact that the district is not going to like it if she volunteers and focus on the subject of her family. Her family is…not pleasant. Growing up in the districts is hard, and it'll make or break you. And Clove's parents are about _this close_ to letting life break them. It's maddening because these parents are supposed to be the strong ones. The ones who know what's going on. But Clove's parents can't fend for themselves. Her father is a drunken Peacekeeper who is almost never home and her mother, well her mother wants nothing to do with her because Clove isn't her real daughter.

"_He doesn't know how to keep it in his pants,"_ She'd told me one day, too nonchalantly for my taste. But I figured if she let the fact that her father was a drunken man-whore rule her, then she wouldn't be as strong as she is today. So in a way, I should thank the old man, because I wouldn't have the hard edged Clove that I do. And whether or not Clove denies the fact that she cares somewhat for the woman she has to legally call mom, she still takes out two tessera every year to cover for food so they don't starve.

I drop to the ground, lie on my back and place my hands behind my head. With a quick contraction of my abs, I sit up. "Then I'll volunteer with you," I tell her between breaths. I don't say it because I feel like there is something between us. She's barbed wire and I'll get shredded. But there is a certain amount of respect that I hold for her. And I would much rather die in the Games than waste away or die young somewhere else alone. At least in the Games, I'll either get a gladiators death or a victors fame. Both I'll get to share with her.

She rolls her eyes and plops to the leaf covered ground, rolling a small rock between her fingers. "No you won't," she says, and it sounds so much like an order that the tone makes me pause.

"I won't?" I ask her with a hint of skepticism and a raised eyebrow, grinning at her. Egging her on. We have this dance that we do. We try to see who can piss the other off first. And I have to say, I've gotten pretty good at it.

"You won't. Because first, the district wouldn't like their golden boy dying before his time." She locks with my eyes and lets a feral grin spread across her lips. "And second, because deep down you know that if it came down to the two of us, I'd slit your throat in a heartbeat."

It's true. But I don't care. Killing me isn't her choice. It's human nature to put your own survival above anyone else's. And that's what the Games thrive on. The carnage. The backstabbing. The complete and utter destruction of formed partnerships. And it's sad but I think I'd try and kill her too. What's worse is that I think I would succeed.

My smile only grows. "I'll remember that."

She snorts and turns her head away. A squirrel scampers on a nearby tree branch and Clove tracks it with her eyes before she hurtles the rock in her hand at it. The rodent lets out a small squeal when it's hit, but the rock's done its damage and the animal falls from the tree and hits the ground with a small _thud_. It doesn't get up.

Boaz's ears perk up and he trots over to retrieve the dead animal. He returns and lies down between us, tearing into the furry flesh of the squirrel.

"What?" Clove lifts an eyebrow at me. "You haven't taught him table manners yet?"

I roll my eyes. "Bite me."

She sneers and the look makes her absolutely dangerous.

Boaz lifts his head away from his meal, ears dancing and twitching.

Clove is getting to her feet, eyes scanning the horizon towards The Nut. "Do you hear that?" she whispers as she gets to her feet.

I don't say anything because I know exactly what it is. The hovercrafts carrying the Capitol citizens to our district for the reaping emerge from behind The Nut just as I get to my feet.

"I'd almost forgotten…" Clove mumbles.

"We should get going," I say to her.

She nods and turns back towards the way we came, jogging. I take stride behind her, eyes cataloging everything that I see. After all, this might be the last time I run through this forest. I memorize the colors of the foliage, greens and browns and grays. I take a deep breath, smelling the crisp air mixed with the slightest hint of wood smoke and stone dust. And Finally I look to Boaz, watch his powerful strides and revel in how majestic he is.

And there, over that fallen tree was where I had found him in the bear trap.

And over there, past the clearing filled with buttercups and primroses, is a timber forest full of tracker jackers.

And I twisted my ankle on that rock.

Climbed that tree to find jabberjay eggs.

This is as close as a goodbye as I'll ever let myself get. This forest was a small, tiny, miniscule, part of my life, I know that, but it's the only place I ever felt alive. My training center comes a close second. Fighting and grappling and combat is still _so me_ but I am so much more than just violence. I am strong. I am powerful. And I am as menacing as the gods.

It's when we slow to a trot outside of our village that I realize Boaz is still at our heels. I stop just outside the entrance to our mine and turn to him. "Go. _Git_," I tell him. "Boaz, you can't come in here."

He's never followed me into the village before. Normally he'd sneak around and use the forests to reach my house. He's never been out in the open. He'll stick out like a sore thumb.

"He doesn't normally follow you this far?" Clove asks. There is a hint—a tiny, minuscule hint—that she is worried. We've both seen what happens to wild animals that wonder into the village.

We take a couple more steps and Boaz follows, ears flat against his head.

"_Shoo_," Clove hisses, swatting at him. "Get outta here!"

But it's too late. A shriek splits the air and suddenly Boaz in crouched and snarling.

Clove and I turn sharply to find an old woman clutching her small child to her side. Eyes wide and frantic, she screams again and then yells for a peacekeeper.

I curse under my breath and turn sharply back to Boaz. "_Git!_" I snarl. He looks at me, confused, ear flat against his head. My heart gives a painful thump and then I'm shooting forward, kicking at him. He's fast and retreats, snapping at my foot. I pursue him until he's full on sprinting away from me.

There is a moment when I lock eyes with the wolf and the betrayal is so poisonous that I cannot breathe. Boaz makes it to the tree line but stops to look back at me. And I get this overwhelming sense that he's realized what today is. Realized what I'm doing. That he somehow knows that this is the last time we will ever see each other. It's sad because this relationship that we had, I think I might miss it in the future.

I can feel a Peacekeeper at my back and Clove close to my side, but all I can see is Boaz's sky blue eyes.

"Run you stupid wolf," Clove mutters from beside me.

The Peacekeeper to my left knocks a rifle against his shoulder and takes aim. I cannot look away. I did this. Befriending Boaz in the woods all those years ago lead to this. I should have known this would be the endgame. I am not awarded companionship. This is the universes way of reminding me of that. The sudden deafening _crack_ of the rifle makes me blink and I watch Boaz yelp as bright red blooms across his hind leg.

He scampers off into the forest and I am frozen, watching him go. The peacekeeper curses and drops his weapon.

"You alright, kid?"

"Fine." I say.

The Peacekeeper shrugs at me, unaware of who I am. He must me new. "Hurry home. The reaping's at two. You don't want to be late."

I nod and he turns to leave. There is a long moment where I just stare at the treeline, empty, emotionless. Finally, I pull my gaze away from the forest and look to Clove.

Her eyes are dark and stormy. "I'll see you in the square." It is not a question, but a promise. And I almost laugh because we're all required to be there. It's not like I'd skip out on my own party. Especially if what my gut is telling me happens.

The grin that crosses my lips is dangerous and feral and my last homage to Boaz. "I'll race you there."

In the distance a wolf howls.

.

.

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	2. The Reaping

**A/N:** So seeing the movie has gotten me in a Hunger Games mood. And can I just say, it was everything I hoped for and more. Even the Glimmer/Cato thing. Isabella was too young (though, umm, where the hell did all _that_ come from? She was crazy good!) to be with Zander, so we need someone else for sexual tension. And Leven is gorgeous, so fair enough. And just everything, okay? Everything was awesome. Go see it if you haven't. Keep an open mind, realize that nothing is going to be like the book and take it for what it is. A movie. You'll be fine. (And if anyone wants to talk about it, just PM me. I am always open for film conversation) _Anyways_, here is chapter two of this story. I kinda feel ehh about it so bare with me? Read and review if you want!

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><p>Already Over<p>

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><p><strong>Chapter Two:<strong>

_The Reaping_

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><p>My home is rather plain. Nothing too extravagant, but well organized and kept clean. The only person that's ever home is my mother. My father is a trainer at the peacekeeping academy and my schedule hardly ever allows me time at home. Still, my mother and father welcome me when I walk through the front door, wide smiles and eyes alight with excitement. They've been talking about the reaping for some time now. Saying—hoping—that this year I might get reaped. I wonder if they realize they're sending me off to the Capitol to fight for my life.<p>

They are dressed and ready to go. My mother wears a pretty, gray dress. Since we are publicly considered to be experts in masonry, the colors of the reaping range from shades of black to gray. My father's shirt is gray as well and he finishes the look with black slacks and loafers.

I clean the sweat from the forest off in a tub of hot water that is waiting for me. When I dry, I find that my mother has laid out my clothes. A black shirt and black slacks with leather loafers. The shirt is soft against my bare chest and back and the pants fit just right. The shoes, while more constricting than I usually like, are comfortable and easy to move in.

"You ready?" My mother peaks her head into the room, flashing a radiant smile.

I open my arms to her and twirl, flashing a cocky grin. "Do I look good?"

She steps forward and unbuttons the first three buttons of my collar. "There," she steps back to admire her handiwork. "You look like the God of Thunder himself."

It is an ongoing occurrence that my mother compares me to the god Thor. We have a book from the time before, when the world was ruled by ideas, hate, and bad choices. It depicts of a time so ancient that I don't even believe it actually existed. But the people described in the pages held mighty power and were worshiped as gods. With my blond hair, enormous build and the hammer as our district sigil, I have a lot in common with the immortal god Thor. Secretly I think the comparison comforts my mother. Because gods can't be killed. And no parent, however twisted or brainwashed, wants to outlive their child.

"Come on," she smiles, but the action only deepens the creases in her face. She can be excited all she wants, but there is still a fear buried deep down. "We should get something to eat."

"You aren't worried?" I tease her as we make our way towards the kitchen.

"Why should I be?" She returns. "It will be a great honor if you are reaped."

We dine on wild turkey and potatoes. On rabbit stew and aged wine. It is a more glorious meal then I am used to, and my stomach feels heavy and full as we make our way towards the center square. When we arrive my mother kisses me on the cheek and whispers goodbye while my father rests a comforting hand on my shoulder. I nod and get in line to be registered.

I search the crowd for Clove and find her three rows down from me, standing in a line of sixteen-year-old-girls with arms crossed across her chest.

She looks thoroughly bored.

I can't help but smile at that. If what she said this morning is true, then this is the last time she's ever going to have to stand in line like this. One would think she'd have some kind of emotion hiding in her eyes.

"Finger." The Peacekeeper in front of me orders.

I obey and she pricks my index finger and smears my blood in a box next to my name. The machine she has in her hand beeps when it's identified my blood and she waves me past. I stick my finger in my mouth and make my way past a group of sixteen-year-old boys.

They're smiling and joking with one another but I know the truth behind every cocky word they speak. They're terrified of getting reaped. We all are. Some, to a certain degree, are more nervous than others. Being sixteen is like having whiplash. There are some boys that want to hold on to their childhood and immaturity for all they're worth. Others, who just turned seventeen like I did, embrace the rite of passage and grow up. Childhood isn't safe anymore.

The world we live in now no longer protects its innocence.

The Hunger Games forces us to kill children, after all.

I find Clove again and this time she seems to sense my gaze. Her eyes flick towards me and I grin at her. I watch her snort and roll her eyes. She looks back to the stage and something makes her clench her jaw.

I look to the stage, watching as the mayor exits the Justice Building, flanked by his wife and other guests from the capitol. The last man to step onto the stage is Soren Radner, winner of the 46th Hunger Games. He takes his seat next to the mayor and props his right leg on his left knee. His right eye sweeps the crowd, his left forced shut by a massive scar that stretches from his hairline to his chin.

He is the perfect example of the Carrere pact and how far the loyalties go. The scar was given to him by a boy from District 4. His ally at the beginning of the Games, the boy turned on him during the final four, nearly killing Soren in his sleep.

Obviously, Soren had been expecting the betrayal and ripped the boy's throat out with his bare hands. But not before some damage had been done. Soren had spent the remainder of the Games blind in one eye.

But the people are not the only things that inhabit the stage.

Two glass balls reflect the sunlight. One for the boys and one for the girls.

As the clock strikes two the mayor steps up to the podium at center stage and begins to read. It's the same tale every year. He tells the history of Panem. He tells about the Dark Days. About the districts uprising and the 12 that were defeated and the thirteenth that was obliterated. The Treaty of Treason which gave birth to the Hunger Games.

The rules of the Games are simple. In punishment for the uprising, each of the twelve districts must provide one girl and one boy, called tributes, to participate. The twenty-four tributes will be imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena that could hold anything from a barren desert to a frozen wasteland. Over a period of several weeks, the competitors must fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins.

Then he reads the list of the past District Two winners. In seventy-three years, we have had exactly fifteen victors. It is the most Hunger Games won by any district in the competitions history and citizens bet heavily on us each year because of it.

Once the speech is done the mayor steps aside and Nara Ingalls takes his place. The District Two Escort is in her mid thirties and as far as capitol fashion; she is on the more subtle side. Her dress is a slick black color mixed with different shades of red. Her black hair is straight against her back and streaked with red highlights. Her shoes add five inches to her height and she towers at around 6'1, give or take her posture. Thankfully, her skin lacks the ghostly white that is currently a favorite and instead is a dark olive, tanned from time spent in a tanning bed.

She clears her throat and taps the microphone with a long, elegant finger. "Happy Hunger Games!" she chirps. "And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" She pauses and licks her lips. "Now, now. The time has come to chose one young man and woman to represent and honor District Two in the 74th Annual Hunger Games." She backs away from the podium and walks to the first glass bowl. "As usual, ladies first."

Nara's fingers hover over the top of the bowl for a split second, no doubt to add to the growing tension, and then thrust down into the sheets of folded paper. She pulls one out moments later and makes her way back to the microphone. Slowly, she opens the sheet.

With a white smile, booms, "Clove Mowbray!"

Well, she's got what she wanted. And it's sad because I know now what I have to do. I watch her break away from the other sixteen-year-old girls and make her way towards the stage. It's funny; I think I've known how this day was going to turn out ever since she told me she'd volunteer if it came to it.

Nara calls for any female volunteers, but whether they're too scared (shocked?)or realize that Clove is the best District Two has to offer, no one steps forward. I watch her as she ascends the stairs to the stage, Nara welcoming her with an open hand and all too eager smile.

Then Nara moves to the next bowl and before I can prepare myself she's pulling out a slip of paper and reading the name of a boy I vaguely recognize. It doesn't matter, though, because I'm stepping forward before she can even ask the question.

"I volunteer!" I find Clove's enraged face and flash a confident grin and a suave wink to her. "I volunteer as tribute!"

I break towards the stage while silence settles over the crowd. There is a smile playing at my lips because I have been able to render everyone within my district speechless. Even Nara seems confused for a moment.

"We have a volunteer!" She's booming seconds later, welcoming me up the stairs. She guides me towards the microphone with a hand at my back. "What's your name?"

"Cato Hawkwood," I say, and then flash a confident smile. "And I'll be the winner of the 74th Hunger Games."

Nara laughs. "Well, let's give it up for our two tributes!" She takes a step back and pulls Clove and I closer together. "Clove Mowbray and Cato Hawkwood!"

The crowd watching lets out a ravenous round of applause. Even though people are no doubt upset about my actions, they know they have two prime tributes on their hands.

"Now, go on you two, shake hands," Nara beams.

I turn to Clove and stick out my hand, sneering. Her eyes, I don't think I've ever seen the green so dark. Her jaw is on permanent lockdown and I'm surprised the bone hasn't snapped under the pressure. She grasps my hand and digs her fingernails into the back of mine.

That makes me smile even more and her grip tightens.

I'm winning our dance right now. And something tells me she knows it.

Once the applause has died down we're escorted into the Justice Building and separated. I am taken to a room and shoved inside by a peacekeeper.

"Take it easy!" I snap and round on the man, but he's slamming the door in my face and I am suddenly alone.

It isn't panic (no _way_ it is) that finds its way up my spine during the silence. But once the adrenaline has ebbed out of me my mind is racing. Second thoughts. Future scenarios. Everything that could possibly happen because of my decision. I think of it all. And my heart is suddenly going a hundred miles an hour. I recite everything that I have learned in training and know that I will win. That there's no way in hell someone can outmatch me. In strength or anything else.

But then I start to think about Clove. About how small she is. That she can't really be that strong—

The click of the door lock spins me around.

My parents shuffle in and shut the door behind them.

I grin and step towards my father.

He slaps me hard across the cheek. My head snaps sideways from the blow and the skin stings and then goes numb.

"Neko!" My mother gasps.

I turn to him slowly, eyes burning with anger.

"There are rules, Cato!" my father snaps, eyes hard. "You obey the rules because they guarantee your safety. They guarantee you honor. We have given you everything you've asked for—"

"I didn't ask to be made into a killer!" I roar, bucking forward.

My father narrows his eyes at me. "If the elders want you to be a killer, than you will be a killer. To disobey them," his mouth twitches with disgust, "makes you no better than the scum from the outer districts." He tears his eyes away from me and turns sharply, running his hand through his short cropped hair. "It isn't your year!"

This anger is not fueled by fear or love. He is not mad that I would have been able to live another year, and then I ruined that by volunteering. No. This anger is genuine and true. He is livid because I disobeyed the "plan". My Hunger Games is supposed to be the 76th Games, as decreed by the elders of District Two. Well, I just threw a wrench in that plan.

"Neko." My mother places a hand on his shoulder and he deflates. My father has a nasty temper, something I have been told I've inherited, but she could always control us. "We must accept his actions. Obviously he thinks he is ready. Who are we to deny that? Who are we to know better?"

My father clenches his jaw but nods reluctantly.

"You will bring honor to District Two, Cato." My mother smiles, but it does not reach her eyes. She wants to say something else, but her loyalty to the district far outweighs her loyalty to me.

Family will only get you so far in the Hunger Games.

A peacekeeper opens the door. "Time to go."

My father places a stiff hand on my shoulder. "Come back as victor," his jaw tightens, "Or you won't come back at all."

The peacekeeper grabs my arm and drags me from the room. I look back to my parents and watch as my mother waves at me.

I watch a tear rolls down her cheek just before I round a corner. And then they are gone.

There is a moment where I am absolutely empty inside. Then I feel the hand around my arm and I'm snapped back into reality.

"You mind taking it easy?" I snap.

The peacekeeper just keeps dragging me along like I'm some kind of six-year-old. Like he's better than me.

I grab his wrist with my hand and squeeze. He lets out a scream and I maneuver him down to one knee in front of me.

"Do you mind," I say through clenched teeth, "not grabbing my arm so tight? It's not like I'm going to run away. I did just volunteer, after all."

"Of course, of course," the peacekeeper nods quickly through his pain.

I straighten and let go of his wrist. "Good. Now where's the train?"

The peacekeeper lets out a breath and rubs at his wrist. "This way." He gets to his feet, muttering under his breath and leads me through the back end of the Justice Building. Two guards open the double wooden doors in front of me and I squint at the bright light that streams in from outside.

Soren, Nara and Clove are waiting for me by the train. But before I can get within two feet of them, Clove is in my face, placing a leg behind the back of my knee and pushing my chest. I pitch backwards to the pavement and she's placing a heavy foot on my chest.

"What the hell were you thinking!" She demands, chest heaving with anger.

"What, sweetheart?" I sneer at her. "You thought you were the only one that was going to volunteer if push came to shove?" Her foot against my chest is strong, but I'm stronger. Using my abs I sit up and get my hands under her foot. In one powerful motion I push her backwards.

She stumbles but keeps her balance and I am on my feet in seconds.

"Damn you, Cato!" She spits.

I laugh at her. "I've been hearing that a lot today."

She points a finger at me threateningly. "Don't think I won't hesitate to kill you."

The sneer that crosses my face is dark and dangerous and there is a flash of second thought in Cloves eyes. "I'll be ready when you try."

A throat clears and Clove and I snap our heads towards our Escort and Mentor.

"Save it for the Arena," Soren booms, though there is a hint of curiosity showing in his one good, blue eye.

Nara smiles. "It seems we have an interesting pair this year, Soren."

The Mentor fixes me with a steady gaze and nods. "Quite a pair indeed."

Clove's chest is shaking with rage, fists clenched at her side.

And for some reason the only thing I can do is grin.

Because I won't let some second rate district tribute kill her.

If Clove Mowbray is to die in the 74th Hunger Games, then I'll be the one to do it.

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><p><strong>AN:** I might have to re-write some of this. I'm not entirely happy with the interactions between Cato and his parents in the justice building. **(I'm happier with the re-write. I needed to portray the absolute atrocity that was District Two's government and how they used their children to get glory).** Giving Cato any form of human emotion is weird because I was so used to absolutely hating him and thinking he didn't feel anything in the books. But then the Feast happened and even in the movie, what he said atop the cornucopia, it was heartbreaking and so human. That might make it into this story if I mold this Cato right. Anyways, I'd love to know what you guys think!


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